


Chat-Up

by Basser



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awful Pick-up Lines, Awkwardness, Embarrassment, Gen, Humor, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basser/pseuds/Basser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly's first conversation with the mysterious genius who hangs around the hospital labs quickly becomes unbearably awkward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chat-Up

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written Molly before, and I honestly never intended to. Someone in the forum I've been hanging around posted the following prompt, however:
> 
>  
> 
> _**Protagonist:** The most awkward or nervous character you can think of in your fandom_
> 
>  
> 
> _**Must Include:** A funny  &/or lame pick up line of your choice. Your own research is encouraged. Acceptable examples include "Excuse me Miss, did you wash your pants in Windex? 'Cause I can see myself in them"; or "Excuse me Sir, can I borrow your phone? I promised I'd call my mom when I found the man of my dreams."_
> 
>  
> 
> _**Scenario:** Your awkward protagonist develops a love-at-first-sight crush on a stranger (or another character). They decide to try out a pick up line they heard recently (Source is up to you). Write about their experience and the outcome._
> 
>  
> 
> ... and that just sounded too hilarious to pass up. So here's poor Molly being painfully awkward! Hope you get a laugh at least. And sorry for any stuff-ups with her character, like I said this is my first go with her as a protagonist.

This is it. This is the day. She's finally going to talk to him.

It's been three weeks now since the strange, tall man in the dashing coat started hanging around the hospital labs at Saint Barts. Goes by the name of Sherlock Holmes, apparently... though of course she only knows that because Dr. Stamford told her. She'd been too nervous to go introduce herself properly. Instead she's taken to hovering near the morgue entrance, watching this handsome stranger as he runs analyses and mixes chemicals and sends a near-constant stream of texts to god-knows-who from his expensive mobile.

He's _way_ out of her league; this stunning handsome genius with the posh accent and bespoke clothes... what would he ever want with a girl like _Molly?_ But, she thinks... it's still worth trying to catch his eye anyway. Because some people just get lucky, don't they? And in all the films and television shows it's always the plucky underdog whose bravery gets rewarded with a ride into the sunset, romantic happily-ever-afters with castles and princes... just like a fairy tale.

She doesn't expect anything quite so grand, of course. Not for a mousey girl like her. But even a long shot is still better than nothing at all, especially with a man as gorgeous as this... it's a one-in-a-million opportunity and she'll hate herself forever if she doesn't take advantage of it. All she has to do is find the courage to _talk_ to him.

It's late afternoon in the hospital's research halls and she's just getting off her shift when she sees him standing by one of the microscope stations in an adjacent lab to hers. He's scowling at a readout screen next to him, fiddling with the lens adjustment of the scope with his left hand while the right composes a message on his mobile - texting without even looking at his phone. For some reason she finds that ridiculously impressive. It's just so... so _cool._ Everything about him is really just unreasonably suave, like the daring protagonist of some novel instead of a living human being.

Shouldn't bother him while he's busy. But she's not sure when she'll ever get another chance to talk to him alone, so before she can second-guess herself she shifts her path to take her through the side door into the lab. Pretends like this was her intended route all along, like she hadn't been about to take the long way round just to avoid getting too near him, like she's _confident._

His thumb hits the key to send his message as glances up at the sound of the door opening... and oh god he's looking _right at her!_ The giddy little surge of her heartbeat when their eyes meet makes blood rise to her cheeks in a ridiculous blush. The mysterious gorgeous genius is _looking at her_ and _noticing her_ and _oh god now he's talking to her!?_

_Oh no no no what did he say, why weren't you listening!?_

"S-sorry, I didn't quite catch that?" she stammers, having somehow completely failed to process the question he'd just asked. She stops short in the middle of the room and arranges her face into what she hopes is a casual sort of self-depreciating smile and not a grimace of sheer terror.

A strange expression flits across his pale features as he studies her - something like perplexed fascination mixed with a hint of bemusement. But why would he be perplexed by...? Oh. Oh _lord_ she's doing the terror-grimace and not the smile, isn't she? _Why does this always happen!?_

She makes a valiant effort to force her countenance into something less reminiscent of a recently-strangled homicide victim as he repeats himself.

"I asked if you know where the extra cover slips are."

Momentarily distracted again because good god that _voice -_ how is a man with a voice like _that_ not constantly surrounded by a horde of eager young women? And according to Dr. Stamford he's _single...?_ There's just no way, absolutely no bloody _wa-_ oh god wait she was supposed to reply now he's starting to look at her like he thinks she might be mentally handicapped _quick_ _answer him you idiot!_

"Th...they're _inthedrawerrightbesideyou!_ " she blurts out in a sudden panicked rush. Flinches back and bites her lip - oh no no no she's being a complete _weirdo._ There's no way this could be going any worse; he's going to start laughing at her and never stop!

He doesn't laugh, though. Instead he just looks to his left, spots the drawer in question and opens it to find a white cardboard box full of glass slides and cover slips.

"Oh," he remarks. "Thank you."

An unbearably awkward silence ensues. Molly's just standing there like an idiot while the handsome supergenius of her dreams turns back to the lab bench and starts preparing a new sample slide.

This is it - she has to say something, _anything!_ Right now is her single best chance to make an impression. He's acknowledged her existence for the first time _ever_ and now all she has to do is break the ice somehow... but god _how?_ There's nothing to talk about, she doesn't even know if they're close to the same age!

Frantically she casts about for something to say, painfully aware of how oppressive the quiet has gotten, how he just glanced up at her with a questioning look as if to say _'why are you still here?'_ And honestly she has _no idea_ why she's still standing here staring at him like a complete creep... except that she promised herself she'd be _brave_ , that she'd take a chance even when the odds seemed impossible. But nothing's going anywhere near like she wanted it to and she's behaving like a huge bumbling mess but she can't let herself run away from this like she always does she just _can't._

In a sort of nervous tic she reaches up with both hands to clutch compulsively at the strap of her purse, feeling the edge of the magazine she'd stuffed in there earlier as she does so. The list of chat-up lines on page eleven flashes through her racing thoughts and before she even knows what's happening she finds herself blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

"D-do you have a map?"

He blinks, looks up at her with brows furrowed in confusion. "Why?"

"Because I got lost," she starts, then realises in abrupt shock how _unbelievably stupid_ what she's about to say actually is. It's too late to stop now, though - her words trail off into a horrified mumble as she finishes the line. "... in your... eyes."

Silence. Complete, utter silence.

His expression's caught halfway between bewilderment and disbelief as he just _stares_ \- she's standing there frozen mid-room with her eyes wide like saucers, face gone beet red. Seconds stretch with agonising slowness into well over a minute of absolute stillness between them.

Finally her legs regain motor control; she takes a single step backwards, slowly shaking her head in mute horror.

"I'm, oh god, I didn't mean..." She swallows, bites her lip, looks frantically over her shoulder at the door. "I should really... go. I mean I've got to... um, e-errands. Sorry, er... good luck with your slides?"

And with that - easily the most ineloquent jumble of words she's uttered to date - she turns and bolts out of the laboratory.

Once outside she buries her face in her hands. Oh _god_ she is the biggest bloody idiot in the _entire universe._ Never ever _ever_ again. Holmes is officially a bust, she's shot herself in the foot, not a single chance in hell. Only solution now is to avoid him at all costs lest she die of acute embarrassment.

Days later she's in the morgue again - assessment of a fifty-two year old's sudden death, she's leaning toward myocardial infarction by the medical history but it's best not to jump to conclusions this early. Maybe a pulmonary issue? Stroke...?

A small sound of someone clearing their throat behind her startles her out of her thoughts. Thinking it's most likely her supervisor she turns around with a question about the current file already jumping to her lips. Her words immediately choke off in a startled squeak however when she spots who's actually there.

Holmes is standing by the furthest gurney, looking around at the various half-bagged corpses around them with interest. Seeing that he's caught her attention he turns his gaze back to her face and smiles.

"I brought you a map," he explains simply, producing a folded rectangle of paper from his pocket and holding it toward her over the gurney. She hesitantly reaches out to take the item from his hand, unfolds the top leaflet. It's... a roadmap of the greater London area.

Molly blinks down at it in bafflement. He... _literally_ got her a map. In response to an awful chat-up line. Is he mocking her, or...?

"T-thanks?" she mutters dubiously, then looks back up. Holmes is staring around at the cadavers again. No hint of ridicule in his expression whatsoever, just pure fascination.

"What's your procedure for autopsy?" he suddenly asks, taking a step toward the nearest body and craning his neck to peer inside the bag.

Her expression seems to have settled into something like shocked confusion - what is he _doing_ here? - and she answers on autopilot.

"External examination followed by standard Y-incision and skull cap detachment."

He looks back up to her and frowns. "That's it...? How dull."

"Well it's... not really meant to be exciting?" Molly responds haltingly, still not entirely sure what's going on. "Just, you know... dead people."

A slight pause as they stare at each other. Then suddenly his smile is back; second time he's smiled at her in less than a minute, now - she wonders if she might be hallucinating.

Reality quickly reasserts itself with his next words however. "Do you ever remove the heads?"

That... _what?_ Taken off-guard, she has to work to avoid letting the surprise show on her face.

"S-sometimes," she replies truthfully; it's rare but it does happen. For some reason Holmes looks almost delighted by that answer.

"What's your name?"

Molly's breath seems to catch in her throat. He's actually asking her to _introduce herself?_

"Molly Hooper," she mutters in something like disbelieving wonder. After a split-seconds' indecision she continues with, "And... you're Mr. Holmes, right?"

He smiles wider, holds out a hand to shake. "Just call me Sherlock."

Molly blushes as she takes his hand.

"... alright."


End file.
